


"I Need a Favor"

by FortinbrasFTW



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Road Trip, Roadtrip, Strip Tease, Stripping, Table Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortinbrasFTW/pseuds/FortinbrasFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam agrees to drive a stranger across the country to join Cas while their brother is in the hospital, only to find out that his new road trip companion isn't so much a stranger as the most haunting one night stand of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zero Hours

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to stay up to date with the fic you can track my writing tag on tumblr [Fortinbras Fics](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/fortinbras-fics)
> 
> If you want to do some listening while reading: Patrick Wolf's album Lupercalia
> 
>  
> 
> My BETA for this story is the lovely Clara <3

“Sammy, I need a favor.”

It isn’t a good start, and the ominous gaping pause afterwards inspires even less confidence.

“What ever you need,” Sam answers. Because there’s not much else to do. 

It’s weird enough that Dean’s even asking, or at least starting to. But nothing about the past week has been exactly normal. Even now he can see the sun glinting off the Impala outside in the driveway and it’s just another reminder of all the chaos that managed to cram itself into the past four days. 

It started on Tuesday with phone call. He knew something was wrong immediately. When Dean had said he was actually on the way to the airport with Cas, Sam had known how serious it was. That was the first day. 

The second had been better, when Cas and Dean had landed in New York, made it to the hospital and seen that, in actuality, the worst case scenario hadn’t taken place. It was one of Cas’ mysterious brothers, Michael, Sam remembers. On the third day the danger was distant and Sam could hear the relief in Dean’s voice as soon as he picked up the call. But now it was the fourth day, and he was back on the phone, asking instead of just assuming, and the tightness was back in his voice, that weight that his tone took on when something was wrong that he wasn’t sure he could fix.

Sam waits with the cellphone against his cheek, the length of a country between them, but Dean doesn’t seem totally ready to get there own his own so Sam swallows and takes the jump, “What do you need?”

“It’s…” Dean pauses, as if he’s still trying to figure out the best way to phrase it and that only makes Sam’s stomach feel worse. Dean’s usual conversation method of spill all the cards on the table and see what sticks might not always be the most delicate, but it was familiar, better than this bloated chasm of possibility and anticipation.

“It’s Cas,” Dean finally manages.

“What? Is he okay?” Sam breaks in, not even trying to hide the concern.

“Yeah, no, no he’s fine,” Dean explains hurriedly, “Freaking fantastic under the circumstances.”

“Okay so…”

Dean sighs, grumbling on the edges like whatever’s going on is as frustrating to try and pull out as it is to listen to, “He’s got a brother,”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, “The one who was in the accident, Michael, right?”

“No— wait, well, yeah, but,” Dean huffs and Sam can almost see him falling backwards to hunch up against whatever wall he’s leaning on, “Turns out the Milton family took a more traditional approach to procreation.”

“Oh…” Sam says, still not totally getting this.

“There’s a lot of them, alright,” Dean says, apparently hearing his confusion, “And all it takes is one getting jammed between two SUVs and a semi to pull them all out of the woodwork.”

“How many siblings does he have?” Sam asks.

Dean sighs, “I don’t know, what day is it? Met one yesterday, Anna or something, seems nice enough. Met another one this morning, British, 80% smart-ass, 20% hair gel.”

Sam snorts at the phone despite himself.

“But last night another one called. Cas had been trying to reach him since it happened and it just went through.”

“Alright, so is he making it to the gathering of the Miltons?”

Dean sighs, “About that favor…”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Right...”

“He’s in Berkley.”

“What, seriously?” Sam says, shocked. Cas and Dean live only an hour or so out and come in to visit him at least a few times a week. If Cas had a brother so close…

“We just found out,” Dean says, pretty much nailing Sam’s next question before it even sees the light of day. “He’s not… apparently he’s a bit out of it.”

“And Cas never got in touch with him before?”

“He tried but he’s been MIA apparently for the past two years or so, until….”

“His brother ends up in the hospital…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m guessing it’s not so much of a coincidence that Berkley’s less than an hour away…”

“Not so much.”

“And planes aren’t an option because?”

Dean sighs, “He’s not allowed.”

Sam pauses, “… Excuse me?”

“He’s banned. From planes. All of the planes.”

“… Should I expect a jihad?”

“It wasn’t—” Dean grumbles and Sam is getting the feeling this was a recently prolonged discussion that had led into the valley of nowhere, “Apparently there were snakes involved and it was ‘just a joke’ and everyone was ‘overreacting’.”

“Snakes.”

“Yup.”

“‘Overreacting’… to the snakes?”

“Look, I know I shouldn’t ask,” Dean says, tone sneaking into something desperate and tired, “He just needs to get here. Cas hasn’t spoken to him in years but he need to be here Sam, you’ve gotta help me out—”

“Hey, hey,” Sam breaks in, “I know, I know, it’s alright, of course I’ll get him there.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, and something in the way he says it Sam can tell he’s closed his eyes.

“So… he can’t drive.”

“You can keep asking questions, Sammy, but the answers are only going to keep getting weirder.”

“Fair enough.” Sam smiles, “But you realize I’ve only got one real mode of transportation here and I think someone threatened me with death if so much as a leaf falls on it wrong, let alone keeping someone one in it for a cross country trip who honestly is starting to sound like some manic escaped magician.”

Dean groans through the phone, “You don’t have to tell me twice. But it is what it is, alright?”

And Sam hears the rest well enough without him actually saying it: _“It’s Cas. So please.”_

“I’ll deliver one crazy brother to Milton Fest as soon as I can, alright. Do I need to call him or…?”

“Nah, he’ll be there tomorrow morning at seven.”

“Alright, well, see you soon, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, “But hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let him get syrup on my seats.”

Sam laughs, “What? Why the hell would”--

“Just- don’t, alright? I’ve been warned...”

 

Seven AM comes faster than usual - not that random road trips with random strangers who may or may not be smuggling reptiles isn’t an awesome surprise and adding a really great element to his week. He’s spent most of the night emailing professors and cramming in assignments he hadn’t planned on starting for another three days, but of course everyone’s very understanding, lots of 'how awful's and 'of course, take as much time as you need's and a few too many 'don’t even worry about it's than were strictly necessary. 

Teachers like him. Always have. And hey, it’s a family emergency - not that he hasn’t wrung all the use out of that cliche. His family happens to come with the heart helping of emergencies. 

He walks out into the bright morning, coffee still clutched in one hand, bag slung over one shoulder. The Impala’s sitting in the driveway, waiting. Sam lets himself have one good sigh and then heads over towards it, trying to shake the groggy out of his head.

He reaches for the door. It’s unlocked…

Sam stares at the handle for a moment and then slowly lets himself look inside.

The man in the passenger seat waves lazily.

Half of Sam’s coffee goes all over the front of his shirt and the rest of it gets either the window or the pavement under his feet, just missing his shoes.

But no, _no_ , there’s no way, no way in hell—

He can hardly even feel the coffee’s heat trying to escape into his chest, he’s too busy staring at the face smiling back at him in a mildly amused way, and shit shit. 

It’s him.

He’d heard about “triggers” and “flashbacks” and all of that, and assumed that it was mostly cinematic dramatization - the camera zooms in fast on the solider’s face and images of horror from the past flash up in quick punishing succession. But it’s a freakishly accurate assessment of what’s happening to him right now.

There’s Christmas lights hung all over some crappy apartment, a countdown towards midnight, stupid party hats and glasses, people cheering drunk and careless and loud, golden brown eyes smiling at him across the room, the taste of champagne and buttercream in his mouth, a small nimble hand locking around his wrist, tugging him out of the party, laughing against his lips, pushing him up stairs to some apartment, and other things. Lots and lots of other things.

Jesus fucking christ.

“Get out,” Sam manages, “Get out of the car!”

The man looks back at him in mock surprise, dramatically gesturing to himself.

“Yes, jesus, get the fuck out of the car!”

The man shrugs and eases out to lean over the roof, just reaching it.

“Problem, kiddo?”

More flashbacks. Vivid flashbacks.

Sam blinks hard, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Do I have the wrong place? I assumed the giant phallic overcompensation in the front meant I was in the right place.”

“No,” Sam shakes his head because he’s very sure about this, “No, I’m waiting for Castiel Milton’s brother.”

The man smiles with one side of his mouth, “Gabriel Milton, nice to meet you.”

Sam stares.

“This is normally where you tell me your name, but I understand trees don’t typically have them, so--”

“We’ve met!” Sam yells, without really meaning to. Christ, he’s not meaning to do a lot of things this morning - namely cover his favorite shirt with scalding coffee stains and remembering the one night he’d put more effort into forgetting than that time he saw Dean fucking his high school algebra teacher on their old swing set.

Gabriel squints, “Have we?” He gives Sam a good once over that takes a few thoroughly uncomfortable moments.

Sam squeezes the bridge of his nose, trying to pretend he’s not about to do this, “New Years.”

Gabriel furrows his brow.

“At Chuck’s…” Sam continues.

“...I know someone named ‘Chuck’?”

Sam groans and decides the bridge of his nose isn’t quite enough, opting in for the full palm facial run down.

“We didn’t sleep together, did we?” Gabriel asks curiously.

Sam tries not to flinch but the stupid mental slideshow is starting again, so he just grits his teeth and tries to ignore it.

“Huh.” Gabriel says, as if he just remembered there is left over pizza in the fridge after all.

“You seriously don’t remember?” Sam asks because he honestly can’t help it. That entire night’s seared into his brain like someone clockwork oranged him. He twitched at the mention of frosting for over a week afterwards and when the lady at the bank offered him a lollipop he almost smacked it back in her face. And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was he still hadn’t been able to stop mentally calling it “hands down, without question, the worst night of my life, and the absolute best sex ever”.

Gabriel shrugs, “Don’t take it personally.”

Sam sighs and looks down at his shirt.

“Feel free to change that,” The lounger says idly, “Apparently it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Sam ignores him, “I can’t believe this. Are you seriously Cas’ brother?”

“Want to see my license?”

“You have one?”

“Several.”

“Oh my god…”

Gabriel lets out a little sigh and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. He fiddles around with it for a moment and then pulls out what seems like an old photo and holds it out towards Sam.

Sam furrows his brow and takes one or two very tentative steps forward.

It’s old, apparently ripped down the middle at one point and taped back together. There’s a few people in it, kids, one has the unmistakable distant blue eyes of Cas, tied to together with that messy thick black hair and slight frame. A young boy with honey gold eyes and a wide smile has an arm hung around his neck. It’s easy enough to recognize him. He’s looking up at two older ones, one with black hair the other blonde, who seem to be smiling towards the camera, though the photo is faded and worn towards the edges.

Gabriel pulls it back after hardly a moment and carefully puts it into his wallet.

“So,” He says, stowing the wallet back in his back pocket, “Magical New Years’ trysts aside, I do sort of have a brother sitting in some New York hospital being spoon fed pudding cups and wondering if I still exist, so if you can manage to get past the colorful memories of my sexual prowess, I would actually like to get going.”

Sam evaluates him for one more moment.

“I have to change my shirt.”

Gabriel gives an exaggerated wave of invitation and climbs back into the passenger seat.

Sam stared after him for a moment and then slings his backpack off his shoulder, pulls out a new t-shirt, wiggles out of the damp one in record speed, and pulls the fresh one down over his shoulders. He tosses his bag into the back and climbs into the diver’s seat.

His traveling companion’s already half melted into the passenger side, cargo jacketed arms spread over the back, slicked back hair pressed into the leather, flip-flopped feet up.

“Don’t put your feet on the dash,” Sam grumbles. 

Gabriel sighs dramatically and moves them. 

Sam goes to start the car and notices the iPod sitting in the cup holder.

“What’s that?” He asks.

Gabriel gives him a pitying look, “Music.”

“You brought a cassette adapter?”

“Is there a problem?”

Sam shrugs, “Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

He turns on the car. Gabriel lazily reaches over and hits play.

The first notes start leaking through the speakers…

_“I threw a wish in the well, don’t ask me, I’ll never tell, I looked to you as it fell—“_

Sam stares down accusingly at the iPod, “Seriously?”

_“I trade my soul for a wish, pennies and dimes for a kiss, I wasn’t looking for this —”_

Gabriel shrugs.

Sam stare tightens suspiciously.

_“Ripped jeans, skin was showin’, hot night wind was blowin’—”_

He turns towards his companion, “… Are you sure you don’t remember, _anything?_ ”

“Don’t take it personally,” Gabriel smiles, not looking at him as he unwraps a tootsie pop.

_“Where you think you’re goin’ baby?”_

Sam evaluates him for a moment longer and then pulls the car out of the driveway and off towards the highway with the sound of teenybopper fantasy blowing out the window.


	2. Six Hours

Nevada’s hot. And bright. And dull.

The road stretches out through the desert, flat and straight until it reaches the horizon and the heat distorts it into waves of blue and sandy brown that quiver and dissipate like smoke. At least Dean got the air conditioning adjusted last spring. Even so, it’s far from ideal. Sam adjusts in his seat, feeling the fabric sticking against his back and sighs as he leans into the leather, squinting against the hard light.

Gabriel groans for what seems like the fifth time in two minutes. Sam winces and shifts a little closer to the door. He’s getting better at repressing the frankly violent surges of recollection. Better. Not great. Not really even good.

Gabriel does it again.

“Can you cut that out?” Sam snaps.

With a degree of petulance, Gabriel sinks deeper into the passenger seat and does it again. With fervor.

Sam glares.

“I’m bored,” Gabe insists.

Sam laughs. “Well, that’s not really my problem.”

“Look,” Gabe says, rolling over a bit to face him properly, looking up at Sam from under those stupid droopy bangs, “This whole mopey attitude thing is going to get old real fast.”

Sam decides to focus intently on the road.

“I mean, if you’re going to be a little bitch for the next forty hours—”

“Oh yeah, and that’s a great start,” Sam shoots back.

Gabe holds up his hands, “Sorry, sorry. I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“Saying just because we fucked” - Sam winces- “Doesn’t mean this can’t be a relatively pleasant experience for everyone involved.”

Sam grumbles.

“Actually means that, by rights, we should be having significantly more fun. But, hey, I’m not picky.” Gabriel finishes.

Sam adjusts in the seat and tries to find something interesting in the absolute nothing surrounding them. It’s shockingly challenging.

“I mean,” Gabriel continues, annoyingly enough. “Are you really that pissed?”

“Not exactly the word I would choose,”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He says nothing. Because it might be that he actually doesn’t know what the problem is. It’s not like it was a terrible experience. Well, no, that was exactly the point wasn’t it. It was the opposite of a terrible experience.

“Are you really just pissed I don’t remember?” Gabriel asked with raised eyebrows, voice quieter.

“No-“ Sam shot instantly. Because, well, he wasn’t. They had both been _significantly_ full of champagne and tequila and arguably other substances. He really shouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t. Really.

“It’s… I don’t know I guess,” Sam shrugs, “It’s just weird. I really never thought I’d see you again.”

Gabriel looks away out the passenger window. “Well, sorry you have to,”

Sam glances over in surprise, “Hey no, it’s not—”

With a smile, Gabriel turns back, expression instantly transformed into something smug and self satisfied, “So?”

“So what?”

“So… fresh start? Thumbs up for a nice hearty road trip experience?”

Sam can’t help laughing just a bit, “Yeah… yeah I guess that would be alright.”

“Super,” Gabriel smiles, collapsing back in the seat.

The road stretches out exactly the same: black, rocks, heat. Gabriel’s stupid iPod is still playing something adolescent and indulgent but Sam at least managed to get control the volume about two hours ago.

“Still bored.” Gabriel observes.

“Well, what do you want to do?” Sam asks, leaning a bit towards him, “Riveting car games?”

“You could tell me a story.” Gabriel says, lolling his head sideways with a goofy hopeful smile.

“Oh yeah,” Sam laughs, “What kind of story?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gabriel muses, “How about the story of magical sexy New Years? Apparently I haven’t heard that one before,”

“Fat chance,” Sam retorts.

“Come oooon!” Gabriel wines, wiggling around in the seat, “Has to be a pretty good story if you’re still so antsy about it.”

“I’m not antsy,” Sam insists.

Squinting, Gabriel reaches out and runs a finger up the side of Sam's leg.

“HEY!” Sam shouts, twitching so hard the car swerves totally into the other lane. He manages to get it back, luckily the dullest highway in the world doesn’t seem to be that popular with midday drivers.

“Yeah… you’re a picture of chill.” Gabriel grins.

“Shut up,” Sam snaps, already feeling the heat scrambling up his cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I guess I don’t need a story,” he concedes, “But I am still bored.”

“Did you bring any food or anything?”

“Yes!” Gabriel shouts, like he just remembered. He flings his body over the back of the seat, hip shoving against Sam’s shoulder as he starts scrambling around behind them for something.

“Hey!” Sam yells, _very_ carefully avoiding actually _looking_ , and dammit there’s that stupid heat on his neck again, “Jesus, sit back down,”

“It’s sweet you think so highly of me, but you really shouldn’t tell Jesus what to do Sam. Doesn’t work out all that well…”

And Sam’s grinning despite himself, “Seriously, what if we crash?”

“Into what, the fucking forest? Calm your tits, okay champ?”

Sam snorts and tries to focus on the road.

“There!” Gabriel says, plopping back into the seat with a decent sized paper bag and peering inside.

“Okay,” He declares, “You can have a tootsie pop… but only if it’s the orange one, or some Skittles… but only if they’re grape.”

“How generous.”

“Ahh!” Gabriel reaches into the bag and pulls out a pint sized jug of maple syrup.

“You’re not actually…” Sam starts, the horror leaking into his face.

Gabriel pops the top off and swigs some back and Sam flinches back in disgust. “Jesus christ, Gabriel!”

“What?” Gabriel retorts, licking his lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Sorry, that was rude,” he sighs, turning to offer out the pint, “Would you like some syrup, Sammy?”

“No!” Sam snaps, “God no, and I don’t want to have detour to a hospital either, so take it easy, okay?”

“Your concern is touching,” Gabriel smiles, reaching into the bag and pulling out a candy necklace. “Want one?”

“No!” Sam laughs.

“Oh, come on, it would look so pretty,” Gabriel insists. And then he’s reaching over and trying to wrap the thing around Sam’s head.

“Hey!” Sam yells, reaching out to fight him off with one hand, but he’s freakishly wiggly in a way that’s unfortunately not unfamiliar and with two quick tugs he loops it around Sam’s neck.

“Fuck,” Sam swears, even though for some stupid reason he’s still smiling, “I feel like the king of candy land’s bitch.”

“Who says you’re not,” Gabriel grins, putting on one himself, “There - bunk buddies!”

“Very comforting.”

Gabriel pulls the thing up into his mouth, sucking at the candy and sorting through the rest of his bag.

“Do you have any _actual_ food?” Sam asked sideways.

“This is food.”

“Yeah, maybe, for hummingbirds and christmas elves.” 

Gabriel snorts.

The car speeds down the road, the sky painted a pale, pure blue by the scorching afternoon sun, spanning unbroken across the horizon. Down in the distance, through the dancing heat lines, there’s a space that holds a steady shape despite the heat. It’s a small building, two gas pumps, rusted hanging numbers declaring the prices. Off to one side of the building there’s a hanging plastic soft serve cone.

“Ooooo!” Gabriel exclaims, sitting up straight for the first time, “Ice creeeeam.”

“No,” Sam says with a tired sigh.

“Oh come on!” Gabriel insists, “This rust bucket must need gas by now, and you were just saying you wanted food.”

“Yeah, sorry, but outside of your demented sugar pyramid ice-cream isn’t a food group.”

“Cream: dairy.” Gabriel says confidently.

“Ten points.”

“No seriously, pleeeease, Sammmyyyyy.”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Come on Kiddo!”

“Or that. Especially that.”

Gabriel smirks and lowers his voice into something smoky, “Mister Winchester.”

Sam can’t help laughing.

Gabriel leans over and pulls a face.

“Hey, puppy look is not going to work on me.” Sam says.

“No?” Gabriel asks, widening his eyes even more and pouting his lip out a bit.

“Sorry, I’m the king of puppy look. It’s on my resume.”

“Is that right?”

“It is, actually.”

“Okay: hit me.”

“No way,” Sam says, “I have to save it for special occasions, or else it loses potency.”

“Come ooon,” Gabriel presses, “If you don’t do it I’ll call you Ser Sammy Sass-a-lot the rest of the ride.”

Sam sighs, slows down, turns towards Gabriel and—

“Jesus…” Gabriel stares.

Sam turns back to the road, “Told you.”

“No I mean… really. Jesus!”

“I know, I know.”

“No, I mean, you have to get me ice-cream now, or else I’ll just feel like I watched ten hours of Humane Society ads for the rest of the ride.”

“Nice try,”

“Pleaaase, it’s right here, plus I doubt you’ll get another chance for this infamous ‘real food’ for another two hours.”

Sam sighs because he is right about that at least, and well, the Impala’s never been the most efficient thing in the world, better fuel up now than risk Dean getting on his case for letting it run on fumes.

He turns the wheel as Gabriel “whoops” next to him and stows the sack of sugar under the seat.

Sam pulls up to the gas pumps and steps out of the car, watching as Gabriel heads towards the building with something between a saunter and a skip. He shakes his head with a little laugh and turns towards the historical pumps to try and sort something out. It’s hot. Really fucking hot. He can already feel his shirt growing more intimately acquainted with his body as he stands there, and by the time the tank fills up he’s frankly ecstatic to get inside.

There’s no sign of Gabriel inside the station but Sam doesn’t worry about it. He grabs two bottles of water and a questionable sandwich, turning to the resister to pay. With a smile, he drops everything on the counter, meeting the eyes of the bored looking woman behind it. She glances up at him and frowns, her gaze leveling at his collar.

Shit. Sam scrambles to tug off the candy necklace.

“Sorry, it’s not, I was just—“

“Fifty-two sixty-four, with the gas,” the woman sighs.

Sam pays in silence and leaves, chucking the thing off to one side as he makes his way back to the car.

“Hey!” The voice calls at his back just as he reaches the door.

He turns to see Gabriel hurrying quickly after him with a massive smile and a rainbow-sprinkle-coated cone in each hand.

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

“You really _really_ didn’t have to—” Sam starts, backing away from the inevitable mess of the ice-cream.

“Oh come on, hurry up and pick one. I’m good, but not good enough to shove both of these down my throat before they melt.”

And fuck, Sam’s blushing. _Again_. He must be doing it on purpose.

“Chocolate,” he manages, hoping ice-cream might manage to wipe the treacherous heat off his face.

“Sammy, you surprise me,” Gabriel grins, handing him one that’s hardly recognizable as any flavor under the coating of sprinkles.

Gabriel moves towards the car as he runs his tongue around the base of his own.

“Hey, no, hold it,” Sam calls, trying to hold the ice-cream in a way that it won’t melt all over him.

“Whaaat?” Gabriel groans and stops.

“We can’t eat these in there, Dean would flip.”

“You are kidding?”

“Sorry.”

“Does he live in the glove box or something?”

“Basically,” Sam sighs, “Really though, I’d feel like a dick.”

“Fine,” Gabriel sighs, easily sliding onto the hood.

Sam opens his mouth to protest but fuck it, the ice-cream is melting, and it’s hot, and he’s already doing Dean more than enough favors. He steps up and sits down beside him, starting in at the bottom of his ice-cream before it drips down the sides.

He glances sideways. Gabriel’s watching him.

“Can you… not?”

“No.”

Sam smiles and shoves at his shoulder.

“Hey! Watch it, I’ll drop it.” Gabriel yells.

“Good.”

Gabriel smiles and goes back to his own ice-cream, staring out at the desert around them. Funny - in light this bright his eyes shone gold at the edges, and his hair seemed to think that was a pretty good idea as well…

“So, chocolate?”

“What?” Sam says, looking away abruptly.

“I was sure you’d be a vanilla.” Gabriel answered. He’d gotten almost all of the sprinkles off by now.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been told I’m full of surprises.”

“That better not be the pick up line I used,”

Sam laughs, “No… it was much worse than that.”

He squints against the brightness, taking another lick or two of the chocolate.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Forty-two.” Gabriel answers without looking at him.

Sam laughs, “I mean, why would you think I’d like vanilla?”

“Just a first impression.”

“Ah.”

“And, I think you’d look pretty in it,”

“What—?” Sam asked, turning as his cheeks started to go pink again but instead he felt something wretchedly cold and sticky on his cheek.

“HEY!” He shouted as Gabriel chuckled, pulling his ice-cream back to himself.

“See, very pretty. You should thank me - you were starting to look all hot and bothered again.”

“Fuck off!” Sam snapped. He reached up towards his cheek and sighed as he thought better of it, “Did you at least get napkins?”

“Sorry,” Gabriel was smiling in that obnoxious way again.

Sam groans, moving to stand up and thinking better of it. Before Gabriel can wriggle away he snatches the bottom of his shirt and leans over enough so he can reach his face, wiping off the ice-cream. Weirdly enough, the fabric doesn’t smell like syrup or booze or any of the other things he’s expecting. It’s something deeper, earthy almost and light, sort of how Bobby’s house smells in the spring time when the earth’s remembering what it is to be alive. Sam sits back up.

“Oh, very mature,” Gabriel snaps, staring down at his shirt with a frown.

“Serves you right.”

“Was that a pun?”

“No.”

“So it was pun-intentional?”

“…Wow.”

“I know. I’m quality company.”

Sam turns away from him to hide the smile spreading over his face, “Shut up and eat your stupid ice-cream.”

“Sure thing, Kiddo.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call me that.” Gabriel mocks.

“Oh, that’s cute.”

“Oh, that’s cute.”

“Yeah well, Gabriel’s an idiot.”

“Yeah well, Gabriel’s a sexual genius.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“Keep it up and I’ll knock your ice-cream right on the ground.”

“Too far.”

“Sorry.”


	3. Eighteen Hours

“Okay, okay: man mutilates, one by one, a group of individuals with moralistic punishments based on their character flaws.”

Sam squints and leans back, “Seven….”

“…And?”

“Seven, and Willy Wonka.”

“Bingo! Alright, my turn, my turn.” Gabriel grins in his seat, adjusting to sit on one foot and face Sam better.

“Okay, hold on, jesus, let me think…” 

Sam sinks deeper into the driver’s seat which had stopped being comfortable about four hours ago. It’s been dark for twice as long as that but even if it was light there wouldn’t be much to see. Wyoming had never been all that exciting.

“Alright,” Sam starts, “Man steals a loaf of bread, punished by cops before a spiritually connected benefactor gives him an upperclass existence and he forms a loving relationship which he fears will be ruined when his true identity is revealed--”

“Les Mis,” Gabe sighs as if it’s far too easy, “And fucking Aladdin.”

“Am I boring you?”

“A bit.”

“Hey, this game was your idea,” Sam insists.

“Yeah, well that was an hour ago.”

“So, what do you want to do now?”

Gabriel leans over to look at him with a half hearted eyebrow waggle.

“Shut up,” Sam smiles.

“Fine, fine,” Gabriel sighs, tossing his hands back in his lap, “Then tell me a story or something.”

“I said I didn’t want to,” Sam insists.

“It doesn’t have to be _that_ story,” Gabriel groans, “Even if it does seem to be the best option.”

“Alright, then what?”

“I don’t know, jesus, how about the boring one: what do you do?”

“School.”

“Vivid.”

Sam laughs, “Law school.”

“Better.”

“I’m half way through, should be done soon enough. What about you?”

“That wasn’t covered during the maelstrom of New Years?”

Sam smiles, “Yeah, not so much.”

“Ah,”

“So? What’s your deal?”

“School as well, just more of it, PhD over Berkley way.”

“Really?” Sam says turning.

“Surprised?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Sam admits, “Wouldn’t have really pegged you as a fan of institutions, let alone the pretty dramatic confines of higher education.”

“Well, just because the rest of the country doesn’t take the quality of their educators seriously doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“You’re _studying_ education?”

“Early childhood education, specifically.”

Sam actually turns to look at him, “Seriously?”

Gabriel looks back, “Very.”

“That… actually kinda makes perfect sense.”

“Glad to hear you approve,” Gabriel says snidely, turning back to the face the front.

“Do you know what age you want to work with?”

“Younger the better,” Gabriel answers, “Before they get a chance to get all creepy and try to squeeze into boxes that weren’t made to fit them. Plus, kids tell the best jokes.”

“Oh yeah? Feel like sharing?”

Gabriel’s lips fold into a smile and Sam can’t help but notice it’s not as sharp on the edges as it usually is.

“Knock, Knock.”

“Who’s there?” Sam asks.

“Moo.”

“Moo who?”

“I didn’t know you were crying, cow.”

Sam stares at him for a moment and then makes a snorting noise that’s most definitely on the list of the least attractive things he could possible do in a confined space, but then Gabriel’s laughing at him and he can’t help but fall back into it.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Sam grins.

“I’m sure the five year old who told it to me will appreciate the critique.”

The headlights catch white and shallow on the edges of the road where the plains start. Sam can almost seem them, stretching all the way back to the horizon, flat, and brown, and green, and shifting in waves back and forth. His back started to complain three hours ago, but he’s not thinking about that. His upper eyelids were getting significantly more attracted to his lower ones, but he’s not thinking about that either.

And he shouldn’t be tired anyways. He wasn’t. He’d done this trip dozens of times, hell sometimes it even felt closer to hundreds. The fact that Dean drove for most of those was totally irrelevant...

“Hey-“ Gabriel’s voice breaks in, weirdly soft.

“Mm,” Sam manages.

“Sleepy?”

“No,” He insists, sitting up straighter to prove it.

“Liar.”

“Hey - you’re... the liar.”

“Yeah, the comebacks really speak to your overall level of awareness.”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, but if I do you have to tell me more stories.”

“Like what?”

Gabriel considers for a moment, “Tell me about Cas,”

Sam turns and looks at him for a second, “What, really?”

“No,” Gabriel sighs as he rolls his eyes, “I’m full of shit.”

“You are full of shit,” Sam grins.

“Even so,” Gabriel concedes, “Tell me about Cas.”

Sam adjusts for what feels like the fifteenth time in the past minute and it still isn’t helping.

“I don’t know, Cas is Cas.”

“Gripping.”

“Well I don’t know, jesus, what do you want to know?”

Gabriel’s silent for a moment, looking out in front of them where the headlights turn the road pale an present in front of them.

“Everything.” He says finally. 

Sam laughs, “Everything?”

But Gabriel looks back at him and even in the dim light of the car Sam can just see enough of his face to catch his eyes glinting hopeful and yellow and strangely serious.

Quickly, Sam looks back to the road, drumming his hands on the steering wheel.

“He’s great,” Sam says honestly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s kinda the best.”

“How so?”

“Well, he just…” It’s strange. He’d never really thought about describing Cas before and now that he was trying to it he was starting to realize just how bizarre most of him was.

“I remember him being… weird.” Gabriel says in the face of Sam’s silence.

“Yeah that too. Definitely that.”

“Okay so: weird and great.”

“Exactly,” Sam says, “And other stuff too, I mean, he sits in the park and just watches people and he can do it for like an entire afternoon and not mind.”

“That sounds _immensely_ creepy.”

Sam laughs, “Yeah that’s what Dean said at first too, but the truth is no one minds because they can just tell he’s, well, _him_ , and they know it’s not weird. It’s kind, in a strange sort of unfathomable way. I think people find it weirdly comforting. But Dean still tries to get him to knock it off.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Gabriel says, putting on a brusk sort of voice that Sam realizes must be an impersonation of whatever he heard Cas say over the phone, “He’s your older brother, isn’t he?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to the experienced,” Gabriel sighs.

“Yeah, well, you’re an obvious middle child,” Sam says.

“No fair, I showed you a photo.”

“Really did’t need a photo to see that. You pretty much _scream_ middle child, in big neon colors.”

“I do not,”

Sam gives him a look.

“Okay, fine, maybe I do, but you were telling me about Cas.”

“Fine, fine… ummm, he’s an anthropology major, language genius. He’s pretty much guaranteed a teaching spot immediately after he finishes his thesis.”

“What’s it on?”

“Bees,” Sam smiles.

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sam shakes his head, because he couldn’t believe it either when he’d first told him, “It’s about the cultural progression of bee keeping and it’s ‘implications on the accepted nature of hive minded creation and omnipresent consciousness in religious observance’.”

“Jesus,” Gabriel sighs, leaning his head back, “My brother’s a dork… how did I let that happen?”

“Oh, come on, he’s a great dork.”

“That just makes him sound like some high councilor of dorkdom.”

“Well, he kind of is.”

“Okay, but what’s the deal with _Dean_?” Again with the voice which Sam has to admit is a pretty spot-on Cas.

“What do you mean?”

Gabriel looks at him pityingly, “Are they fucking?”

And Sam really can’t help feeling his stomach tighten up nastily when Gabriel says that word because it instantly turns into a memory pressed close up against him, whispering terrible and devastating things.

“Jesus, I don’t know.” Sam manages, pushing the recollections aside hurriedly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Look, I’m not sure what constitutes ’normal sharing’ in your family, but I really don’t like to keep track of who my brother is fucking for my own peace of mind.”

Gabriel suddenly turns to him and there’s a very serious and very dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Sam, is he yanking Cas around?” He asks, “Because if that's what's going on, I swear to god—“

“No!” Sam breaks in, anxious to get that freaking ‘death by righteous fury’ look off his face.

“Well, what the hell, then? I talked to Cas, he says he and Dean flew out when this happened, says they live together... but they’re not fucking?”

“Okay,” Sam says sternly, “One: I said I _didn’t know_ if they were fucking. Two: caring about someone does not actually equate to ‘fucking’.”

Gabriel shrugs as if he doesn’t think too much of that hypothesis.

“They’re just… Dean and Cas, I don’t know.”

“Sounds complicated,” Gabriel observes.

“It is, and it isn’t. I don’t know, they met and just sort of clicked together and it’s been pretty much the same since then.”

“So how’d they meet? When?”

“Umm, let’s see, I guess it was about two years ago.” Sam’s suddenly smiling as he remembers, “They got locked in a refrigerator.”

Gabriel’s attention is suddenly locked, that goofy grin spreading over his face, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously, and it was totally my fault.”

Gabriel shifts, adjusting into prime Story Time position.

“I’ve known Cas through school, we met a few years back and we’d meet up and hang out whenever. Apparently, I’m one of the few people lame enough to find whatever he’s working on interesting so that made me worth spending time with. But anyways, Dean says he’s coming to visit and I wanted him to meet Cas, just because I thought they might get along. We all end up getting what Cas might call ‘somewhat inebriated’ and Dean decides around midnight that’s he’s starving and Cas mentions he loves this burger place downtown. So we go downtown. And it’s closed. But Dean’s starving, so he decides it’s fine for us to break in and see if they left anything ‘lying around’ - which we thought was a good idea, and all that should really paint a pretty vivid picture of just how wasted we were at that point.”

Gabriel’s still watching him with this eager face like unicorns are prancing out of his mouth so Sam keeps going.

“Luckily one of the windows wasn’t locked so we didn’t break anything, but we’re stumbling around in there, and Dean’s yelling about how there aren’t any burgers, and Cas is laughing harder than I think I’d ever seen him laugh, so I suggest they check the freezer since that’s obviously where they keep them. And there’s this one that’s open, I guess it was broken or something because it was obviously not on, and I say ‘hey why don’t you guys check it out’. So they wander in and I thought it would be just hilarious to shut them in there for a bit and freak them out. Only the door locked. And they got stuck.”

“You jerk-off.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But it gets worse. They had no cell service in there and they couldn’t hear me through the door, and so I am desperately trying to get the door to open with a massive stumbling drunk on.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

“Well… I was going to, and then I remember the fact that we broke in, and then I also remembered the fact that the freezer was off so they weren’t going to be freezing, and that fact that a human being can survive for six hours with the oxygen in a sealed coffin.“

“That’s probably the creepiest bit of random trivia I’ve heard in a while.”

“I did a project.”

“Not making it less creepy. But, please, continue.”

“Yeah, so, I figured, it was 2am, it would only be like four hours until the staff came in and opened up for the day, so I could just… take a nap, and tell them when they got there.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a horrible person?”

“Hey! That’s not fair, I was _really_ sleepy, and it was only because I knew they’d be okay.”

“Still. Horrible.”

“ _Anyways_ , the guy came to open in the morning and I told him what happened and luckily the stoner kid they had working there found the entire thing _hilarious_. So we were fine.”

“What about Cas and Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugged, “They were kinda quiet, but seemed fine. Dean was a bit weird for the rest of the day but we all were pretty hung over.”

Gabriel’s face was being invaded by a horrifically smug expression, “Did he look at you when they opened the door? And I don’t mean glance, I mean eye contact.”

“No…” Sam said, “But I deserved it. I locked them in there, after all.”

“Did he give you shit about it later?”

“…No.”

“You idiot!” Gabriel’s laughing hysterically beside him in an instant, “They totally fucked!”

“Oh come on!” Sam snaps, because yeah, maybe they did, but then again maybe they didn’t, and mostly _he did not want to know_.

“They did! They fucked right there in the freezer while you were napping three feet away!”

“Hey!” Sam shoots, even if he is smiling a bit.

“Jesus, Cas turned into a bit of a slut, huh?”

“That’s not fair,” Sam says, “Anyways… no, never mind.”

Gabriel’s grinning and leaning over towards him, “Anyways what? What?”

Sam’s blushing but smiling and he can’t help himself, “In high school they used to call Dean the ‘Slut Maker’.”

The fit of hysterics that pulls out of Gabriel is definitely worth the wretched mental imagery that comes with it.

“But then what happened? This wasn’t just the night on top of the burger patties to remember?”

“No,” Sam sighs, grateful to hopefully be through that part of the story, “Then Dean started randomly showing up on campus more and more, sort of appearing when he knew I usually met up with Cas for coffee or something, and then they would hang out after when I had to go to class, and then we were all hanging out on weekends and they would do stuff when I wasn’t around, and then a year later Dean said they were going to be roommates for the new semester, so, yeah, and now we’re here.”

“And all that time, you never thought they were fucking?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sam insists, “Look, I’m not an idiot, but I’m also not desperately looking into my brother’s sex life either. I know they mean a lot to each other, in a way I’ve never really seen with two people before. I know they love each other in their own way and that they’re friends and that when they’re together they smile when the other one smiles and they really _mean_ it.”

Sam sighs and adjusts his hands again on the wheel, squinting out at the Wyoming darkness.

“I know they make each other happy.” He finishes, “That’s all I really need to know.”

Gabriel’s quiet for a long moment.

“Alright,” He says finally, “Maybe you’re not a totally horrible person.”

They sit in silence, watching out the front as the yellow dashed lines slit past one at a time. Sam can see the edge of the moon over the the right, just peeking out behind the edge of Gabriel’s head, turning his hair all silver and shiny.

He turns back to the road, but it’s smaller now, thinner, darkness pushing it down which some distant part of his brain tries to tell him are his eyelids closing. But he doesn’t listen, it’s amusing in a strange sleepy way how the road gets smaller, and it feels _so_ good—

“Ground control to Major Tom,”

Sam’s eyes open up sharply, adjusting the wheel just a bit to get back in the lane, “Huh, what?”

Gabriel eyes him for a moment and then sighs, “Pull over.”

“What, no, I said I’m fine.” Sam insists, even as his eyes try to sneak down again. He furrows his brow hard to ward against it.

“Sam,” Gabriel says, voice low and sincere and Sam can’t help letting his eyes get tugged over to the golden ones.

“You’ve been driving for eighteen hours.” Gabriel insists calmly, “Pull over.”

Sam looks back to the road with a frown, but puts his blinker on anyways and starts to navigate the car over to the side.

“Dean would flip if he knew I let you drive.”

“Good thing Dean isn’t here,” Gabriel says in that weirdly soothing tone he suddenly has. It’s almost like a lullaby, easing in gentle and soft and comforting.

Sam stops and with a groan undoes his seatbelt and climbs out of the car.

He stumbles half way across the field of the headlights but a nimble hand catches his waist and pushes his back.

“Yeah, very alert,” Gabriel laughs, the usual snark sneaking in to the quiet tone he’d adopted just on the edges.

Sam can’t help smiling, ignoring the fact that he’s leaning into that hand a bit, ignoring the fact that, for someone significantly smaller than him, Gabriel doesn’t seem to be having a problem holding him up.

Sam’s asleep as soon as he hits the passenger seat, with the sound of Gabriel adjusting the clutch fading out into his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole the dual film titles game from a Reddit thread and the cow joke from Louie CK (or rather his daughter) - just so you know. I'm not nearly awesome enough to make up my own cow knock knock jokes.


	4. Thirty Hours

“Sam please.”

“No.”

“Seriously, though. Sam. _Sam!_ ...Are you looking? _Please_.”

“No!” Sam insists, looking away from Gabriel’s face before he starts laughing, “And I swear to god I’ve said it about a dozen times so stop bugging me already.”

“You can’t seriously mean to drive all the way to New York without stopping _once_?!”

“That’s how we always did it when we were kids.”

“Yeah? And how’d you like that?”

He hated it. A lot. But he’s not saying that now. They've made it over half of the way to their destination, two thirds even, _maybe_ pushing three quarters. They would get there. He’d taken over the second he’d woken up after the initial moments of sleepy shock at seeing Gabriel rather than Dean in the driver’s seat. Gabriel had whined, but he’d relinquished the wheel eventually, crashing pretty much as soon as Sam took over, only to wake up and start complaining that they needed to stop before he was forced to take drastic measures to amuse himself.

But stopping means staying somewhere and that creates complications, or at least the potential for complications, which Sam is not thinking about. Definitely not. Even if the idea of flopping down on some musty hotel room bed seems like pure bliss after the limited comforts of the Impala’s bench seat.

“Okay,” Gabriel starts, “I wasn’t going to take it this far but… you’re starting to smell like ass.”

“Fuck off!” Sam says, trying not to let the embarrassment creep so far up his neck as to be obvious.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Gabriel continues, throwing his hands up helplessly. “I know that not everyone is blessed with my majestic natural odor, but seriously. We need to stop. You need a shower. I need a proper bed, and a beer or seventeen.”

Sam sighs and tries to adjust in his seat but the knots in his shoulders only tighten with the new position.

“Not to mention,” Gabriel adds, with the air of someone pulling out a trump card, “It’s pretty unsafe, and if you crash the car, well—”

“Fine!” Sam snaps, “Fucking fine. But _one night_ and we are getting up at the crack of fucking dawn because if I have to see you chug maple syrup out of that disgusting jug one more time I might actually develop a psychological trigger.”

But Gabriel doesn’t seem to hear him, as he’s too busy doing a spastic little fist pump dance within the confines of the passenger seat.

— — — 

The motel’s pretty much exactly what he's come to expect. The heavyset balding guy at the front eyes them for a moment before asking what kind of room they want, adding that it’s $20 more for two doubles. It's pretty much the fastest Sam’s ever put money down on a table in his life.

The room smells a bit like pond, but there’s space to stretch out in and a pair of beds and a shower which Sam finds himself practically running to make use of by the time they drop their bags on the beds. His enthusiasm earns him a smug “told you so” expression from Gabriel, but who the fuck cares when steamy hot watery goodness is only three feet away.

He only realizes as he’s getting out that he forgot to grab fresh clothes on the way in and takes the time to wrap two towels more than usual around himself before sneaking out towards his bag. But Gabriel hardly seems to notice from where he’s lolled out on his bed with Adventure Time blaring on the TV and what looks to be at least six candy wrappers from the vending machine scattered around him like some Hershey’s sponsored honeymoon.

Sam’s chuckling to himself with that mental image as he pulls on fresh jeans in the bathroom, balling up everything else and shouldering back into the room.

Gabriel practically bounces off the bed as he heads towards the bathroom, only half shutting the door as he starts to shuck off his shirt.

“If you’ve used up all the towels to protect your fragile schoolgirl modesty, kid, I swear to fucking god—“ Sam shuts the door the rest of the way for him and decides he’d rather clean out the Impala than wait to see if Gabriel’s own modesty is as clinically lacking when getting out of the shower as Sam suspects it to be.

The Impala’s parked right out front, gleaming dully as the sky gets dark around them, burnt around the edges by the orange glow of the city they’re now in. Indianapolis? And shit, the fact that he can’t quite remember really just proves the whole point of stopping, doesn’t it?

Sam grabs a plastic bag and decides to attack Gabriel’s side first. There’s at least five cans of orange soda rattling around in the seat well and he’s jammed the side pockets full of wrappers and old candy necklace strings. Sam’s groaning already but notices with a strange sense of disbelief that somehow, through all the disorder, there isn’t one smudge of maple syrup on the seats, no sticky finger prints on the dash, and even the door handle is surprisingly clean. Though Gabriel was driving for what must have been at least seven hours after Sam passed out, the driver’s side is pristine, save for a few gas receipts Sam had dropped on the floor.

“Hey, Miyagi.”

Sam turns and looks up from where he’s knelt down by the open driver’s side door.

Gabriel’s leaning on the door, smiling down at him. “It’s beer o’clock.”

Sam chuckles and stands. “Dean says that.”

“Starting to like Dean,” Gabriel says, “Fucks in restaurant freezers, drinks like a regular human being, instills the fear of god in you over leaving some receipts on the car floor—“

“I’m not scared of Dean,” Sam insists.

Gabriel eyes the baggy in his hands with raised eyebrows.

“This,” Sam says, gesturing with the bag, “Is _respect_ , which I know might be a foreign concept for you.”

“You didn’t have to clean up after me, Sam,” Gabriel says, with a weird gentleness.

Sam can’t help looking at him for a moment. His hair’s darker when it’s still a bit wet and pushed back from his face. It makes his eyes bigger and brighter and the little gold flecks in them that much easier to see. 

Strangely, he can see the resemblance to Cas better when he’s like this. It’s not so much in any aspect of his face, but he sort of shines in the same way Cas does. He’s still wearing the green cargo jacket and sloppy jeans and flip flops but he’s got a new t-shirt on now that Sam thinks might say “Ball Hard” across the chest in giant dominating letters.

“Beers?” Sam asks.

“Beers.” Gabriel confirms.

———

They end up walking for a bit before they even start to look for a place to drink, because walking frankly feels awesome after such a long time in the car.

Gabriel’s halfway through some story about the last time he spent Christmas in Iceland and how, after about ten shots of vodka, rotten shark meat isn’t so bad, when Sam puts his hand in his pocket and— “Shit.”

“No, not shit. It was more like radioactive waste—“ Gabriel says, pushing ahead with his story.

“No, no, hold up.” Sam's reaching around to all his pockets and _shit_.

“What? Lost your purity ring?” Gabriel asks.

“I forgot my wallet.”

“Ah.”

“I must have forgotten to take it out of my pocket when I changed jeans…”

“Well, I’d offer to treat you, kiddo, but I think I have enough cash for us to each get a beer or two and that’s about it.”

“You don’t have any credit cards?”

Gabriel gives Sam a hard long look. “Do I strike you as the type of person who has credit, let alone cards to prove it?”

“…You only have enough cash left for a few beers?”

“I like to travel light.” Gabriel shrugs. “And I generally hope to get my companions drunk enough to feel lonely in their stupor and offer to buy my drinks to match.”

“You cheap fuck.”

Gabriel holds up a finger in correction. “ _Resourceful_ fuck.”

“Okay, we aren’t that far. We’ll just go back.”

Gabriel groans but follows him nonetheless.

It takes them twenty minutes to get back to the motel and Sam’s already tugging the keys out of his pocket as they walk up to the parking lot. “I’ll check the car first, I might have just left it in there.”

He hurries over, opening the door and kneeling on the driver’s seat to scrounge around.

“Hey, kiddo?” Gabe calls from where he’s standing behind him.

“What?”

“Did you leave the door open?”

“What? No, of course I didn’t leave the door open.”

“Huh…”

Sam suddenly sits up. “Wait, why?”

“Well… the door’s open.”

“What?!”

Sam pulls himself out of the car. Sure enough, the door to their room is hanging just slightly ajar.

“…This isn’t going to be good, is it?” Gabriel sighs, but Sam’s already shoving the door open and falling inside.

It’s a wreck.

Their bags have been emptied, clothes are thrown everywhere, all the drawers are open, the mattresses have been shoved aside in case anything of value might be hidden underneath.

“Fuck,” Sam says. “Fuuuuuuuck!”

He’s rushing across the room towards his jeans as Gabriel walks in with a low whistle. “Shiiit.”

Sam sees the jeans thrown over his bed. He snatches them up and paws around at the pockets, muttering curses and prayers all at once, but no. Nothing.

“It’s gone,” He breathes. “It’s fucking gone… And the iPod and my fucking computer!”

Gabriel edges one of his shirts over with his foot, revealing a DVD case. He picks it up and opens it, “Awwww, they took my Casa Erotica! Why would they take the porn and leave the TV? Jesus fucking Christ, kids these days have no sense of priorities.”

Sam hardly hears him. His head is in his hands. “My wallet’s gone, it’s gone…”

He can see Dean’s face already and suddenly he feels sick. He’s sitting down on the bed before he realizes it, trying to steady his breathing.

“Hey-“ Gabriel calls out behind him. “It’s fine, well… not fine… it’s shitty, but just call your bank, cancel your cards.”

“We don’t have any money…” Sam says, staring through his fingers down at the floor.

“Not so,” Gabriel announces proudly. “We have exactly enough for two beers, which I think is a great idea, personally, so—“

“We have no money… we can’t get the car to New York without money.”

“Ease up, there, Eeyore, jesus, just call Dean. We’re hardly eight hours away now, he can be here in no time.”

Sam spins with sudden fury. “I am _not_ calling Dean!”

Gabriel holds up both hands in a gesture of placation. “I’m just saying—”

“He trusted me to do this, he trusted me with the car and the drive and… jesus christ, the face that he’d make if he knew that I had his car _this close_ to being stolen. I can’t, okay? I just… I’m not calling him. There has to be another way.”

Gabriel evaluates him with close brows and finally sighs. “Fine, well, maybe the Scarface impersonator at the front desk will be sympathetic.”

He was not.

“It’s your motel,” Sam pleads, leaning desperately against the counter. “You have to hold some sort of liability!”

“Yeah,” The man says, shoving a fat finger in Sam’s face so hard his gold chains jingle over his undershirt, “For me. But they didn’t take my shit, so, frankly, I’m not too fucking concerned.”

“Oh, come on!” Sam groans.

“What? What do you want from me, want me to replace your stuff? Who the fuck do you think I am? AllState?”

“Look,” Gabriel says, easily sidling in front of Sam to take his place at the counter. “We haven’t stayed in the room, and it doesn’t look like we’re going to stay in the room. Just give us back our deposit and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Do you know what a deposit is?” the guy asks with a smug smile. “It’s what I get from slackers like you in case shit like this happens. That’s my collateral, and I’ve got you in there for two hours already. Hours count in my business.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “You know, I don’t think you’re a very nice person. In my experience, people who aren't very nice can expect things to happen to them that aren't very nice."

The man behind the counter couldn’t possibly seem more nonplussed as he lifts the dirty white phone off the handle. “If you’re still here in ten minutes, I’m calling the cops.”

Sam and Gabriel stride out of the office and back towards the Impala.

“Let him call the police. We’ll wait for them, tell them what happened,” Sam suggests.

“And what is it, exactly, that you imagine they’ll be able to do? Do you think the whole Indianapolis police force is going to jump on the case, hunting down the random douche bags who stole some poor bastard’s wallet and an even poorer bastard's porn?”

Sam groans, opening the door so he can at least sit down. He leans his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes. “This fucking sucks. It really just fucking sucks.”

Gabriel’s quiet for a moment and then finally puts a hand on the top of the car with a decisive nod. “We’re going to get a beer.”

Sam can’t help smiling in a half broken way. “No, we aren’t.”

“Hey,” Gabriel insists. “It’s my ten dollars, I can do what I want with it, and I want to get a beer. We’re going to pack up, get the stuff in the car, get a beer, and figure this out.”

Sam sighs. That actually sounds stupidly perfect…

“Alright?” Gabriel presses.

Sam swallows. “Yeah, alright.”


	5. Thirty Four Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has REQUIRED listening... you'll know when. The song is "Shoop" by Salt N' Pepa
> 
>  
> 
> [ [Listen Here] ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vaN01VLYSQ)

They pop into seven bars before Gabriel decides on one with the right “vibe”, which apparently means two bachelorette parties going on at once and what seems to be some sort of sorority pledge night. The bar is crammed with women shoving at the counter to get more cocktails in tall glasses while others are knocking back pints and wiping foam off their lips as they explode in drunken laughter.

“I can barely move in here!” Sam yells, barely audible over the noise as they manage to cram in against the bar.

“Exactly!” Gabe yells back, gesturing to the bartender. “It’s perfect!”

“I thought we were going to sort though things!”

“We are!” Gabriel grins, “Promise!”

“But I can’t even hear—“

“Jesus!” Gabriel yells, glancing around for the bartender. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to grab her attention.”

“But—“ Sam starts, but Gabriel’s already gone, shoving his way through the giggling masses towards the bartender at the other end.

Sam sighs and lets himself collapse, his head against his arm on the table.

“Hey." A soft voice from somewhere near his elbow shakes him out of his respite.

He raises his head half an inch. A pretty blonde girl with a round face and pink lipstick is smiling at him.

“Here.” She pushes a tall golden beer towards him. “You look like you could use this.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Sam stares. “Um, thanks?”

The woman is eying him with a half-curious hunger. “No problem. Want to join us?”

She gestures over her shoulder to the waving, all-female group behind them.

“Oh,” Sam says, “I uh… I’m sort of here with someone.”

But _no he fucking isn’t, and why the fuck had that come out of his mouth so damn fast?_

“Ah, I see,” she says, craning over to look for Gabriel down the bar. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. He’s cute.”

“Oh no, don’t be sorry, it’s fine.” Sam says still trying to figure out what the fuck his mouth’s doing.

“Well, enjoy the beer. If you and your boyfriend get bored, you can always head over and sit with us.” She smiles.

“Yeah, thanks, totally.” Sam grins back, which definitely fucking shouldn’t be so easy while stupid massive lies are coming out of his mouth and _what the fuck is wrong with him?!_

And then she’s gone.

By the time Gabe gets back with his own drink, Sam is half way through the beer.

“What took you so long?

Gabriel slides down next to him. “Just solving our problem.”

Sam turns. “Oh, yeah? What’d you do, whore yourself out in the bathroom?”

“Not _exactly_.”

“That’s comforting.”

Gabriel picks up his beer and slugs it back. The entire thing is gone in less than three seconds and Sam is left gaping.

“Buckle up, kiddo.” Gabriel grins.

“What— no, no no Gabriel, Gabriel! _What the fuck are you doing?_ ”

But it’s too late. Gabriel’s got a foot up on the bar already and is lifting himself all the way up. Sam makes a grab for his jacket but he shrugs him off as he stands, all the way up, and all the way on the fucking bar.

“Get the hell down, what is wrong with you?!” Sam attempts to yell over the noise. Gabriel either can't hear him or chooses to ignore him, and given the smug way he's smiling, it's likely the latter. Then Sam hears the music…

_Heyyyy yeah - I wanna shoop baby, shoop-_

“Oh my fucking god…” 

The women packed around him at the bar around him are already staring to notice, shoving at each other and him to get closer on the off chance that something more interesting is going to develop. Sam is sickeningly sure it’s going to much more interesting way too soon.

Gabe’s standing in the very middle of the bar. Anyone who had drinks placed on it has pulled them off and leaned back, staring in shock. He’s turned his back to the crowd, flipped up his collar, and is thumping one of his heels with the beat on the table. He’s rocking his hips just a tad and that’s when the first couple of whistles sound.

_No - not you- the bow-legged one, what’s you name? Damn that sounds sexy-_

Gabriel glances at Sam over his shoulder. He winks and then he’s spinning on his heel to face the now massive crowd.

_Here I go - here I go again—_

“GIRLS WHAT’S MY WEAKNESS?” Gabriel yells.

“MEN!” The mob screams back. 

Gabriel angles his shoulder and starts to shrug off the cargo jacket as he rolls his hips back and forth. Sam wants to bury his head in his arms but he can’t quite manage to look away, for some reason, which definitely has nothing, _nothing_ to do with the way Gabriel is moving his hips.

He slips his jacket all the way off and gives it a chuck into the crowd. Sam follows the arch of it down to where one bachelorette elbows a sorority girl in the neck to snatch it out of the air, but apparently it’s prizes for everyone as Gabe kicks each of his flip flops off as well.

_Wicked, wicked, had to kick it-_

He’s down to his “Ball Hard” t-shirt that’s about a size too small for him and those worn old jeans. The way he’s rolling his hips has women shoving against Sam like it's a damn mosh pit to get a better view, but, weirdly enough, Sam finds himself shoving back.

_Don’t know how you do, the voodoo that you do so well—_

Gabriel runs one hand through his hair while he lets the other trace all the way down his torso as he rocks his body lower, fingers slipping down his hip and tensing over his thigh. That’s when the first bra lands on the bar.

_You’re packed in your stack-_

“Oh no,” Sam whispers.

And he does it, he actually _pops it_ \- snapping his hips out and letting himself rise back up ass first.

“GET THAT SHIRT OFF!” Someone screams, so close to Sam’s ear that he thinks it’s actually ringing, but Gabriel simply looks in the direction of the voice and _wags his fucking finger_ before letting one hand slip under the t-shirt and ease it up just enough to see where his hips dive into his old jeans.

And then out of nowhere he’s up on his tip-toes and _drops_ , bending his back at a freakish angle and catching himself with a hand on the bar as he thrusts his hips up.

“Jesus!” Sam feels himself yell, but the sound is lost with the squeals and screams around him as Gabe drops to his knees, spins once and then kneels with his knees spread in front of the grabbing hands at the bar, crossing his arms in front of his torso and slowly working his shirt up his body, inching his hips forward to the beat all the while. 

And Sam feels his neck heating up because he _absolutely should not_ be half way towards an erection.

_I wanna know, how does it hang? Straight up, wait up, hold up-_

Gabriel’s stupid shirt flies off over his head and into the crowd and suddenly as he reaches for his belt he catches Sam’s eye.

Sam instantly looks down into the beer he’s somehow managed to keep a hold of during the chaos, but it’s too late.

Gabe’s already on his feet, swaggering over towards where Sam’s seated.

He reaches out a hand.

_Bright as the sun, come and give me some of that yum yum—_

Sam stares at it as if it’s carrying the plague. He looks up at Gabriel, incredulous, nearly laughing. “No way in fucking hell.”

Gabriel cocks a half smile and then leans back. “WHAT DO WE THINK, LADIES!”

Sam’s shocked the screams don’t break any bottles and suddenly it’s hardly his choice anymore. Freakishly strong little hands are shoving at his back, urging him upward and, as he acquiesces, Gabe’s fingers lock around his wrist and help him the rest of the way until he's on the bar with him, head hardly an inch below the ceiling. 

Sam tries one last time, “Really?”

“Live a little,” Gabe sweeps behind him and suddenly he feels hands slinking up under his jacket, “Don’t worry - I’ll take it slow.”

Sam has nothing left to do but stare into the rabid faces looking up at him like he’s some kind of god as Gabriel’s hands trace _toofuckingslowly_ up from his hips to his waist and chest and then all at once under the shoulders of his open flannel, shedding it off, spinning it once in the air, and hurling it into the crowd.

_Make yah get hot, make yah work off a sweat—_

Gabriel’s moving around him, sliding up and down his side like it’s the easiest thing in the world. For some reason all Sam can look at is one particularly slack jawed girl in the front who he thinks is saying “sweet jesus christ—“ but he can’t be sure because now Gabe’s slipped behind him again and is running his hands around the sides of his waist, diving under his t-shirt. Sam’s mouth goes dry all at once and this is definitely _the worst-timed erection in the history of life on earth._

Gabriel’s hands are on Sam’s belt faster than he can catch them and suddenly his thumbs slide alone the line of Sam’s hips and under the edge of his pants.

“Gabriel,” Sam manages to grit through his teeth, “Just - not that.”

The hands still for just a moment and he feels Gabriel’s breath on his neck, saying something, probably a reassurance. Then the fingers are sliding in the other direction, up under his shirt, and suddenly he’s tugged it off up over his head and Sam feels the warm air of the bar against his bare skin.

The bar goes very quiet for half a second. And then it explodes into screams of vicious support.

_Get, get your lips wet cause it’s time to have a test-_

Gabriel’s hands are suddenly on his shoulders shoving him down to his knees and Sam finds himself spread out in front of snatching hands that are suddenly waving bills in his face, clambering to get closer and he’s ready to stand back up but — _holy shit is that a twenty?!_

Sam stares in shock at the money that’s making it’s way towards him and then, just out of curiosity, he snaps his hips forward a bit and two of the four closest girls yell lewd things he only half hears while the other two just gape, hands diving into their bags for more.

Gabriel’s got a hand in his hair tugging his head back as he leans over him jutting his own hip to the side so scrambling hands can shove bills under his belt.

“Hey!” a voice behind them calls, and Sam looks over his shoulder to see the bartender grinning. She tosses a bottle up and Gabriel catches it. He gives Sam a warning look as he pulls the top off with his teeth but Sam’s almost smiling now and just tosses his head back as Gabe pours the stuff over his mouth, missing mostly and getting it on his neck and chest but then he’s back on his knees too _running his fucking tongue_ up the side of his chest to catch what’s fallen.

They can’t take the money fast enough.

Three hours later, they’re stumbling out of the bar with four hundred and sixteen dollars crammed into Gabriel’s pockets. 

Sam’s been responsible for the bar selling all the tequila they had on hand which was delivered to most of the patrons by means of his torso. Gabriel’s done about five of those himself and hosted just as many. 

Gabriel’s belt is gone _somehow_ so he’s having to keep his pants mostly up with one hand, and they couldn’t find Sam’s shirt even after an hour of looking so he’s wearing Gabe’s “Ball Hard” one, which looks especially absurd given that it was a little small for him, let alone for Sam. Gabriel’s wearing Sam’s flannel instead of his own shirt, which makes perfect sense in their current state of mind. 

It took them the better part of an hour to manage to get out unnoticed, an effort which concluded with the bartender letting them out the back while the rest of the women argued over a new song, and now it’s close to midnight and Sam’s way more drunk than he intended to be and infinitely more happy than he expected to be.

They make it half way back to the car before they realize there is no way they are driving. Thankfully, there’s a fairly nice hotel hardly a block down the road and though it’s half their “earnings”, it doesn’t matter and Sam finds himself struggling with the stupid electronic key. He's laughing harder than he has in a while, slumped against the door.

“Where the fuck did you learn to dance like that?” Sam’s giggling as Gabriel takes away the key to try the door himself, not having any better luck.

“My brother taught me.”

Sam stares. “Cas?!”

“No! The other one.”

The little green light clicks on the door.

“VICTORY!” Gabriel declares.

“Shsshhhhh, shut the fuck up!” Sam whispers back, loudly, shoving him into the room in front of him as Gabriel cackles and stumbles in.

“Michael?” Sam asks abruptly, shocked he came up with the name.

“No, no, noooooo,” Gabriel slurs, turning on the light by the side of the bed and collapsing onto it, laughing like he's suggested something entirely ridiculous.

It’s just one bed and Sam might have noticed that if his head wasn’t full of the swirling room and a warm bouncy sense of happiness.

“My _other_ other, brother, Luke,” Gabriel says, rolling over onto his back and lifting his hands up to count on his fingers.

“When do I get to meet that one?” Sam asks, sitting down at the foot of the bed and clumsily easing his shoes off.

“ _Never,_ ” Gabriel says emphatically, dropping his arms back down onto the bed.

“Why not?” Sam asks, finally free of the shoes and letting himself fall back as well. Gabriel’s still far enough away that he isn’t touching him and if he leans his head _alllll_ the way back he can just see his face.

“Because,” Gabriel whines. “He’d seduce you in less than an hour and I’d never see you again.”

Sam finds himself rolling over onto his elbows and inching a little further up the bed. “And you wouldn’t like that?”

“No.” Gabriel sticks out his lower lip, studying the ceiling, “I’m having fun.”

He rolls his head to the side to look at Sam.

“Are you having fun?”

Sam stares back at him. “What? Being mauled? Yeah, tons of fun.” But he’s smiling so hard he knows he’s not selling the sarcasm.

Gabriel grins and then turns back to the ceiling. “Tell me about New Years.”

Sam stares at the mattress in front of him for a moment. The patterns are moving around in dizzying displays and everything feels soft and warm and awesome. He is having fun.

“It was my first time,” Sam says without realizing it. His voice sounds funny, girly, that makes him laugh. “I mean… first time with a guy.”

Gabriel’s sitting up a little straighter now, eyes attempting to focus on him. “What, really?”

“Yup.” Sam smiles, allowing himself to slump face-down onto the comforter. It smells a little like bleach and hotel soap.

Gabriel’s tones changes, turning softer. “Was I… your last?”

Sam rolls over onto his back with a sigh. “Nope, there were two others after… maybe three… can’t totally remember the third. But…”

Gabriel’s voice sounds a little closer, but Sam can’t tell, he can’t see him. “But what?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. The ceiling’s easier to look at, it doesn’t move as much. “But it wasn’t the same. They weren’t you.”

He let’s his hand drop back. The edges of his fingers are just touching Gabriel’s jeans, tickling a bit.

“And then there were some girls… but suddenly they weren’t the same either.”

Gabriel’s suddenly quiet, so Sam shifts a bit.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” Gabriel asks, as if he’s distracted by another thought.

“Have you… since New Years?”

Gabriel sighs. “Since New Years, what is it - June? So ummm… fourteen, maybe?”

Sam makes an unattractive snorting noise, “Jesus christ—“

Gabriel’s quiet for a moment, “But…”

Sam tries to roll over more. It’s hard. When did he get so stupidly tall? “But what?”

He can see Gabriel collapsed back on the bed, arms spread wide, eyes closed.

“But it wasn’t the same. They weren’t you.”

Sam wrinkles his brow and finds his arms pulling him upright and closer. “Whoa, whoa, hold on a second, you said you didn’t remember?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows tilt a bit. “Oh yeah, that’s right, that’s what I’m saying…”

Sam’s gaping now. “You _remember_?! 

Gabriel throws an arm across his eyes. “It’s too bright in here,”

“Hey!” Sam insists, shoving at his shoulder. “This is important!”

“No,” Gabriel says vaguely, “It’s really not.”

“Yes it is! You’ve been _lying_? All this time?” Sam insists.

Gabriel groans from under his arm. “Maybe… mostly… definitely.”

But Sam’s almost angry now in a clumsy drunk way and snatches his arm, pulling it off his face. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

Gabriel’s eyes flash suddenly, landing on his. “Because you didn’t call, alright?!”

Sam stares.

“…What?”

Gabriel groans and rolls over onto his side, away from Sam. “I asked you to call and you didn’t call, okay? So I pretended I didn’t remember.”

Sam’s still staring at the back of his head. “You didn’t tell me to call…”

“Yes, I did. I said: ‘call me’.”

“You said: ‘ _call me, maybe’_!” Sam yells.

Gabriel shrugs. “So?”

“So?! So I thought you were kidding!”

“I put my number in your phone,” Gabriel says, voice half caught in the pillow, face still turned away.

“When?”

“When you were in the bathroom.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It was under my name.”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Oh.”

“Oh…”

It’s quiet for a long moment.

“One of the girls in the bar said that you said that I was your boyfriend…”

Sam thinks his eyes might be closed. “Oops.”

Outside there’s only the soft sound of traffic. He’s right. It is too bright in the room.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sleepy.”

Without thinking, Sam’s leaning over him, stretching out his fingers and flicking the switch. The room collapses into soft darkness and Sam sighs as he leans back, but somehow he can’t quite seem to make it all the way there, one arm stays draped over Gabriel’s shoulder, body leaning in around his.

Gabriel’s still for a moment and then quietly inches back, nestling against the curve of Sam’s body. If Sam tightens his arm around his waist a bit and allows his face to press against Gabriel's hair, which smells a little of booze but mostly of spring, well, who’s to know?


	6. Fifty Hours

He’s hung over. He’s beyond hung over. He’s wandering in some new horrible land carved out of pure hang over. And why the fuck is he driving? Who’s fucking idea was this anyway? And why the fuck had he drunk so, damn, much, tequila?

Sam groans and leans back in his seat, trying to find a position that doesn’t make his head want to fall off as he reaches down for more of the coffee Gabriel had gotten them. He has no idea how, but he did, which is a significant miracle on its own.

When he’d woken up that morning, for a horrifying second he’d had no idea where he was. He’d heard Gabriel humming in the bathroom, and then had another equally terrified moment until he realized he still had all his clothes on and wasn’t full of a sinking sense of sexual shame. It all flitted back eventually: the robbery, the car, the bar, the money, the drinking - _jesus christ the drinking._

Gabriel had apparently been up for at least half an hour because there was blessed, blessed coffee waiting for him. But apparently that state of lucidity had only gotten him so far because as soon as they’d made their way down to the Impala Gabriel was half asleep again. Now as Sam glances over he’s passed out against the window of the passenger side door, snoring lightly.

Sam can’t help smiling at him there, mouth lolled open and cheek all shoved up against the glass, twisting his face into a hilarious shape. Pretty amazing, really, that he managed to get up in the first place, and not only that but get Sam out of bed and into the car in one piece. He must be anxious to get to the city, to see Cas finally.

Gabriel’s hair is more wrecked than usual, one fat strand fallen out from where it’s usually pushed back. Sam finds himself reaching out and gently easing it back into place, and it occurs to him just how quickly this is going to be over. They’re what? Two hours away now, three? He frowns as he looks back to the road. Why does that feel so strange, and why is he sorry that the road isn’t twice as long?

Well… he’s got at least three more intensely hung over hours to sort that out.

— — — 

Gabriel wakes up when a taxi cuts off Sam and he slams the horn so loud he’s almost afraid he broke something.

“Guhghhhhhhh,” Gabriel manages, shoving two hands over his eyes and trying to sit up properly.

“Feeling bright and shiny?” Sam asks, eyes tight on the traffic as he tries to navigate the whale of a car through the NYC streets.

“Don’t even mention the word bright,” Gabriel groans, “It hurts too much.”

“Well, you’d better snap to, we’re pretty much there.”

Gabriel’s suddenly sitting up. “What, really?”

When Sam glances over at him, he’s gazing out the window almost anxiously.

“Yeah, there’s the hospital,” Sam says, pointing towards a building down the block as he turns towards it.

“Ah,” Gabriel says, staring at it with wide eyes.

Sam focuses on the traffic, easing around until he’s pulling into the turnstile out front. He parks, glancing out the window up at the building as people file in and out around them.

Gabriel isn’t moving.

“Are you alright?” Sam asks.

“Interesting question…” Gabriel answers. He’s staring down at his hands in his lap.

“…Nervous?” Sam tries.

“No,” Gabriel tries to smile, “I mean it’s my brothers. Who would be nervous about their brothers? Nervous people, that’s who.”

When Sam looks again, Gabriel’s looking up at him, anxious but hopeful.

“Are you coming in?”

“What?” Sam startles, “Oh- I uh, no, I was going to go to the hotel first…”

Gabriel’s face sinks.

“But-“ Sam catches, “I guess it would be good to see Dean and let him know the car’s in one piece. And Cas.”

“Well,” Gabriel shrugs, suddenly seeming much more comfortable, “If you wanted to…”

Sam smiles and shakes his head, turning back to the wheel. “Yeah, sure, just let me park.”

— — — 

Cas and Dean meet them out front. Sam sees them waiting by the entrance before they turn the last corner out of the car park. Gabriel must see them as well because he slows slightly next to him, but Sam just keeps up his pace and Gabriel is forced to match it.

When they turn the corner Cas sees them first, and he’s smiling and hurrying to meet them instantly. He doesn’t even say anything, just wraps his arms around Gabriel and pulls him close. Gabriel’s body goes very still at first, and then he closes his eyes and hugs him back so tightly Sam’s worried he might break something.

Dean navigates carefully around them, not even trying to hide the anxiety on his face as he gets closer to Sam.

“She’s fine,” Sam says, heading him off before he has a chance to ask, “Totally, perfectly fine.”

The effort Dean takes not to sigh in his face is almost admirable.

Sam admires the way Dean fights back a sigh, though the massive relief is pretty much screaming on his face. 

“Thanks man.” Dean smiles, giving Sam’s shoulder a firm squeeze before squinting at him. “Dude, are you hung over?”

Sam groans. “You have no idea.”

But by then Cas and Gabriel have apparently disentangled and are turning back to them, so Sam is saved having to explain any of what happened the night before. 

Dean reaches out a hand towards Gabriel. “Hey, I’m Dean.”

Gabriel takes it smoothly. “So I’ve heard.”

Sam notices that Gabriel’s eyes seem somehow brighter now, almost like there was something weighing over him that’s lifted.

“Hey, Cas,“ Sam starts, but apparently Cas is having one of those days, because he wraps Sam in a hug too, quick and warm.

“Thank you, Sam,” he says as he lets go. “This means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t a complete dick all the time.” Sam smiles.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Gabriel winks back.

“Come on,” Cas says suddenly, putting a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and turning him. “Michael’s awake, he’s been asking about you.”

The fear slinks back into Gabriel’s face even as he seems to fight to hide it. “Well, wouldn’t want to leave him alone with his fruit cups.”

“We’ll catch you later,” Dean calls after them as Sam realizes that they’re already halfway gone.

He looks after them with a strange feeling in his stomach, and Gabriel turns just as Cas gets them to the glass door, holding his gaze for a moment before following Cas inside.

“So,” Dean says, “Not a complete dick?”

“No…” Sam says, his eyes still on the glass door. “Ninety-nine percent dick, sure, but not quite the full one hundred.”

“Did he get syrup on the car?” Dean presses.

Sam laughs. “No, syrup free.”

Dean nods to himself, hands tight in his pockets.

Sam smiles at his brother knowingly. “You want to see for yourself right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely going to have to happen.”

— — — 

After checking on the car, Sam and Dean spend most of the day wandering around the city, giving Gabriel and Cas plenty of time to get all caught up on whatever the hell they’ve missed during ten years apart. Apparently Dean’s been cooped up in the hospital for far too long, and Sam’s more than happy to indulge in a good long walk after fifty hours in the car.

It’s good to see him, awesome in fact. Sam always manages to forget how much he misses that easy interaction that always comes with Dean, the natural rhythm that only siblings really have. He wonders if Cas and Gabriel are falling back into it. He hopes so. Cas deserves that, and strange as it is after the week he’s had, he thinks Gabriel does too. Sam thinks he might even need it.

They end up getting a late dinner and it’s almost eleven by the time they get Sam a room back to the hotel where Dean and Cas have been staying.

It’s nice enough, pleasant, the same as most, really. Tacky wallpaper, ugly paintings and a bolted down TV, but the bathroom is clean and the pillows are good and soft. He drops his bag down on the chair and plops down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and lying back with a sigh. 

The room is quiet, and Sam reflects that he hasn’t had this kind of quiet since he stepped out of his apartment and stumbled into a face that smiled like it knew all the answers that lurked in every dark corner of life. And it should be great - it was great, wasn’t it? Space. Quiet. Peace. Starting right about now Sam won’t have anyone trying to drag candy necklaces around his face while he’s driving, or tugging him up onto bars to throw his clothes to a crazed mob of drunk women, no one kicking feet up on the dashboard, sitting, legs apart, winking in his direction. He won’t have to deal with any of that, probably never, ever again.

It was pretty amazing that he’d ended up dealing with it at all in the first place. After New Year’s, he’d really never thought he’d ever see Gabriel again. Well, maybe for the first month or so after he’d tried to look for him; he may or may not have chased down a few short guys with slicked back hair only to realize his mistake, turned a few strangers in coffee shops only to apologize, and started picking his weekend bars based on half formed memories of places they’d been that night. He might have done that for a bit, and it would be stupid to deny that. But time had passed, and he’d realized if he’d been meant to see him again he would have by now, and then it was months later and he’d “moved on” he was “over it”.

Except for the fact that he still woke up at night sometimes with the taste of champagne and bubblegum on his tongue, and when he sat in a coffee shop window watching people pass on the street he couldn’t really deny that he was scanning faces with a particular smug smile in mind.

Last night is still pretty hazy through the din of proffered cosmos and body shots galore, but some things are starting to slip through.

Sam reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The little screen lights up pleasantly and he starts scrolling through his contacts. _“Fiona, FastThai, Gabriel, Garth—“_

He stops, thumb pausing for a minute before slowly scrolling back up.

_“Gabriel”_

It’s just a few letters, a simple set of glowing pixels between hundreds of others. It shouldn’t make him feel like a dick, and it certainly shouldn’t make him feel a strange sense of validation, of hope in something he’d long since given up hoping for, but still couldn’t help remembering every single day.

He taps the name.

The phone rings three times.

“Yeah?” Gabriel’s voice sounds as glib and quick and lazy as usual.

“I’m not interrupting some Milton bonding ritual, am I?”

The phone is quiet for a moment, and Sam realizes suddenly he’s just assumed Gabriel would recognize his voice after spending just over 48 hours with the guy and that’s just embarrassingly stupid and—

“No worries, kiddo, we’ve got at least half an hour before the goat arrives for the sacrifice. You can get anything in this town, I swear. We can save you guys some if you want to, you know, rekindle those brotherly bonds.”

A grin slips onto his face, and Sam realizes he recognizes the feel of it. It’s the one he’s been wearing pretty much non-stop for the past two days.

“That’s alright,” Sam replies, “we tend to keep it a little more modern. More Die Hard sequels, fewer farm animal bodily fluids.”

“What can I say, we’re a classical family.”

Through the phone Sam can just hear the sounds of the hospital, muffled speaker announcements, bustling voices, steps on tile floors.

He wonders where he is, leaning against a wall, one hand crosses arrogantly in front of his chest. Maybe sitting, stretched out in one of those standard hospital chairs, legs spread across the floor in front of him, head leaned back as he gazes up at the ceiling.

Sam shifts on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. “How’s Cas?”

“Kind of adorable. Kind of creepy. He stares. A lot. Does he always do that?”

“Yeah, you get used to it.”

“Yeah… I think I could, actually.”

Is it possible to be used to someone’s voice so quickly? He’s already familiar with so many aspects, the way it picks up when he knows he’s saying something funny or how it flits off casually on the ends when he actually cares about the answers.

“So…” Sam tries, hating how his chest is still doing that strange light thing underneath him, “are you staying?”

“What? In the city of readily proffered sacrificial goats?”

“No, just… around?”

Gabriel’s quiet through the phone, and Sam tries to imagine what his face might look like but can’t quite get there.

“Yeah,” He says finally, “Yeah I think I might be around.”

Sam’s chest really needs to cut it out.

“Oh, well that’s… nice.”

“Why?” Gabriel says, and Sam can completely picture his face now, grinning and smug, “Would you miss me?”

There’s a sarcastic response in the back of Sam’s throat, but something else slips out instead.

“Yeah. I would.”

And then Sam gets to feel a little smug, because he doesn’t think he’s actually ever gotten him speechless before, but he doesn’t let it last long.

“Want to get a coffee sometime?” Sam asks.

And Gabriel’s laughing. “You’re asking me to go get coffee?”

Again, the sarcasm tempts at the tip of Sam’s tongue but it can’t quite seem to get there.

“Yeah… I’m calling you, to ask you, to go get some coffee.”

Gabriel’s quiet for a moment, just his light breathing against the phone and the gentle noises of the florescent lit halls behind him.

“What if I don’t like coffee?”

Sam sighs, and he could be a dick right back, it’s easy enough. But just this once it’s not quite worth it. 

“Hey, Gabriel?”

“Hey, what?”

“Want to get a coffee sometime?”

He can almost feel the small smile through the phone. “Yeah, sure, kiddo,” and then half a beat later, “I fucking love coffee.”

“Good,” Sam smiles. “Me too.”


End file.
